


A Fortuitous Encounter

by deacertes



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Pre-Series, Spoilers for Episode s01 e04 The Good Soldier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-07 20:17:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1912392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deacertes/pseuds/deacertes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt over on the bbc musketeers kink meme:</p><p>When Athos leaves La Fere after the execution of Milady, he has no intention of becoming a musketeer, his one idea is to get as far away as possible. He wanders aimlessly for some time, before making a gruesome discovery: twenty dead musketeers and the lone survivor...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. an encounter in the forest

The snowfall began as soft, swirling flakes that spotted the horse's mane before melting. The animal's nostrils flared as it snorted, its warm breath suspended in the cold air. As it picked its way through the forest, the horse's rider hunched low in the saddle, his hat pulled down and cloak drawn tight in deference to the worsening weather. The hazy dawn had given way to the bleakness of a winter morning, and a heavy grey sky could just be glimpsed through the tangled weave of branches, holding the promise of further bad weather. Athos' hands tightened on the reins as his mount veered suddenly, spooked by something in the clearing ahead.

Athos pushed back his hat and rose up in his stirrups. The snow was falling faster now, making it difficult to see anything clearly. His hand dropped instinctively to the hilt of his sword as a crow swooped down, letting out a raucous cry as it joined its comrades. As the excited birds flapped and danced over the ground, Athos dismounted cautiously, drawing his sword. The snow had not yet had time to settle in a deep, even layer, and as Athos drew closer he could see that the forest floor was littered with bits of cloth, poles, and rope. However, it was not this debris that held his attention. His focus narrowed on the hand sticking out of the snow, the outstretched fingers discoloured and grotesquely swollen.

Athos drew in a sharp breath as he looked around and realised there was not one body lying here but several, some almost completely blanketed by the falling snow. Here and there a hand or a foot protruded, or a clump of snow encrusted hair. The birds pecked at the remains, seeking the rich pickings of this gruesome harvest, staining the snow red.

Movement caught the corner of his eye, and Athos turned quickly to see a figure staggering out from the tree line. He was confronted by a young man, clad only in breeches and a thin shirt. There was the remnants of a hasty bandage fastened around his bloodied head and his hair was dusted with white. Glassy-eyed and slack featured, this ghastly apparition was enough to make Athos take half a step back before he gathered his wits. Putting away his sword, Athos ran forward to help. The man flinched back as Athos drew near.

Athos held out his hands to show that he meant no harm. "My name is... Athos." He wondered if there would ever come a time when that name would cease to sound strange to his own ears. "Please, let me help you?" Athos didn't get an answer. Instead, he had to move swiftly as the young man's legs buckled. Athos reached him just as they gave out and was able to catch him before he could sink down into the snow.

The man turned his head and blinked at Athos. "Marsac?"

"No," said Athos, gently. "My name is Athos. Can you tell me your name?" This close, Athos was able to see a worrisome blue tinge to the man's lips, along with the lines of pain etched into his face. More alarmingly, Athos could feel the intense cold from the man's body seeping into his own.

Athos led him over to a tree on the edge of the clearing and carefully settled him against the broad trunk. Athos took off his cloak and wrapped it around the man's slender shoulders. "Wait here one moment," he instructed. Though judging by the dull gaze, Athos didn't think his words held any meaning for his companion. However, as Athos went to move away, he found his coat seized in a surprisingly strong grip.

The wounded man was breathing harshly, the blank stare replaced by wide-eyed panic.

Athos placed his hands over the ones clutching at his coat. "Easy," he soothed. "You're safe. Do you think you can you tell me your name now?"

"Aramis," said the man, weakly. "My name is Aramis."

Athos tried to offer a reassuring smile, but the muscles of his face felt stiff from disuse, and he feared the end result was more of a grimace. "Aramis, can you wait here a moment? Then you and I can both leave this place, all right?"

Aramis nodded warily, then winced with from pain the action seemed to cause.

Athos squeezed Aramis' shoulder gently. "I won't be long," he promised. Aramis didn't resist as Athos freed his coat, lowering Aramis' hands and covering them beneath the folds of the cloak.

Athos carried out a brisk, but thorough search, and confirmed what he had already surmised, there were no other survivors. Athos counted twenty dead. He also made another discovery. Uniforms bearing the fleur-de-lis of the King's musketeers. But what were they doing so close to the Savoy border, and who would have dared to attack them? As unwilling as Athos was to leave the dead musketeers to the birds and other beasts of the forest, he could see no alternative. There was no possibility of him being able to transport them; their horses had either been driven off or stolen. While the ground was too hard to facilitate any kind of burial, even if he had possessed the necessary tools. Athos hesitated over whether or not to collect any of the men's belongings, but aside from his own reluctance to carry out the ghoulish task, Athos did not want to linger any longer than necessary. If the men who had carried out this attack were still in the vicinity, he and Aramis would be in danger as long as they remained in the forest. For the same reason, Athos was reluctant to raise his voice to call out to other possible survivors. He returned to Aramis' side.

"How many of you were there?"

"Twenty-two," said Aramis, dully.

Athos frowned. He could not in all good conscience think of leaving if there was a possibility that someone else had survived this massacre, but it was equally imperative that he get Aramis somewhere warm and dry. Athos crouched down and questioned Aramis gently. "Do you know if any one else got away? Was there perhaps someone else with you?"

"Marsac."

"And do you know where he is now?"

"Gone."

"Gone?" Athos repeated.

"He took off his uniform and rode away. He left me here." Aramis looked at Athos. "He was my friend. Why would he do that?"

Athos had no answer. However, he had known men to lose their wits in the aftermath of battle. Perhaps that was what had happened here. "I cannot speak for your friend, but you have my word that I will not abandon you. Come, we should go." Athos helped Aramis to his feet and they made their way over to his horse, which stood by patiently. It wasn't easy getting Aramis into the saddle, but eventually they were underway, Athos seated behind Aramis.

Once they had left the noisy clamor of the birds behind them, the forest grew eerily silent. Aramis slumped in the saddle, head lolling upon his chest. Athos spurred his horse onward but dare not break into a trot. The snow had not let up, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to traverse the drifts that were forming. Athos strained to see through the swirling flurry, hoping for some sign of shelter ahead. The snow storm had seemed of no importance when he had been travelling alone, but now Athos felt the weight of his responsibility for the injured Aramis. Finally, just when hope was failing, they reached the edge of the forest. As they came out from the trees, before them was a cluster of houses, smoke rising in plumes from the roof tops.

Athos tried to rouse Aramis, who had fallen worryingly quiet towards the end of their journey. "Only a little further," he encouraged. Concerned that if he tried to dismount, Aramis would fall out of the saddle, Athos remained on his horse and called out as he drew close. The door to the second nearest house opened a crack, and a child's curious face appeared. The child was quickly drawn back out of sight, to be replaced by the taller, broader figure of a man. He eyed Athos and Aramis suspiciously.

"What do you want?"

"My companion and I were caught in the storm," Athos explained.

"What's wrong with him?" The man asked, nodding towards Aramis.

"Regretfully, one of our horses stumbled. The unfortunate animal perished, and my friend was hurt in the fall. We would be grateful if you could provide us with shelter until the snow stops."

"No room here," said the man, bluntly.

"I assure you, we will take up very little space. Any quiet corner will suffice, and perhaps there is room in your barn for our horse?"

"No room," the man repeated, and the door was slammed shut.

Athos' mouth tightened in displeasure. He could hear raised voices from within. He waited. After a short time the door opened again to reveal an elderly woman.

"Greeting to you, stranger. My son forgets that while he may be the master of this house, this is still my home, and I'll not stand by and see any traveller turned away from it. That said, while your story may be true, please understand, I cannot risk you or your friend bringing sickness to our family." She pointed behind Athos, to where a fairly large barn stood. "You are welcome to shelter there until the storm passes. I'll have my son bring over food and water, and blankets. Your animal can have a share of the feed."

"Thank you," said Athos.

The elderly woman frowned. "If a stable was good enough for our Lord, it will be good enough for you."

Athos realised she had mistaken the formal stiffness of his tone for ingratitude. He inclined his head and tried to soften his expression. "Of course, we are deeply grateful for any help you can provide."

"Can you pay?" her son called out over his mother's shoulder, ignoring her when she tried to elbow him away. He pushed past her. "Well, can you?"

Athos nodded. "May I also trouble you for something to wash and bind my companion's wounds?"

"That'll cost extra."

Athos had to carefully school his features to hide his lack of surprise. "I will pay it gladly."

The man nodded. "Go over to the barn. I'll bring it to you." He ushered his mother away from the doorway, and with that the door slammed shut once more.


	2. Chapter 2

Athos had to dismount to remove the piece of wood fastening the barn doors. His attempts to hurry were hampered by fingers that had been made clumsy by the bitter cold. He cast a worried glance at Aramis, who was slumped forward over the horse's neck. The wood slid free at last and Athos threw the door open. He led his mount inside, reaching for Aramis just as the other man began to slide out of the saddle. Athos set him down safely and then went back to close the door, shutting out the biting wind.

The barn was dry and relatively warm, at least in comparison to the storm that was building outside. Athos would have gadly paid more for a fire and a proper bed, but in the circumstances he would take what he could get. Aramis, though conscious, did not seem to take in his surroundings. Having tied up his horse, Athos set about gathering armfuls of fresh hay, piling it up some distance away from the other residents - a bored looking ox, an elderly gelding, and a handful of curious goats. Athos placed a few empty sacks on top of the hay and brought Aramis over to it, removing the damp cloak before lying him on the makeshift bed.

The scant light filtering through narrow slits in the thick stone walls was just sufficient to see by. Athos took off his gloves and tucked them into his sword belt as he knelt. He was relieved to find that Aramis had no serious injuries to his limbs or his torso, but the head wound was a concern. Athos knew of men who had died from a blow to the head, sinking into a stupor from which they never woke. If that happened, Athos knew there would be nothing he could do . All that lay within his power was to try and ensure that his companion was warm and rested, and hope that in time Aramis would recover.

Hearing the barn door, Athos went to greet their host.

The man stopped before he got too close, setting two jugs and a thin looking blanket down on the floor. He looked past Athos at Aramis. "Your friend looks sick."

"As I said. He is injured, not ill," said Athos.

"He's feverish," accused the man.

"From his wounds."

The man didn't look convinced. "I don't want no sickness."

Athos was losing patience. He drew himself up and let his fingers rest lightly on the hilt of his sword. "Then it is fortunate that neither myself nor my friend are unwell." He watched the man's gaze flicker toward his blade.

"Fine. You can stay for now. But if either of you get sick you'll both have to leave. And I want payment."

Athos reached into his purse and drew out some coins. He watched, darkly amused, as the man took off his hat and somewhat nervously held it out.

"Put 'em in there."

Athos threw them one by one into the hat. The man's features lit up briefly before returning to their customary sour expression. Without another word the man turned and hurried from the barn, clutching his hat to his chest.

Athos gathered up their provisions. It was not as bad as he had feared. When he unfolded the blanket he found bread, a small hunk of cheese wrapped in a piece of cloth, and a few scraps of dried fish. As the blanket was too thin and worn to provide much insulation, Athos decided to used it to make a fresh dressing for Aramis' wound. One of the jugs contained beer, the other a curious concoction of leaves and vinegar. Athos eyed the strong smelling mixture dubiously. However, he soon discovered that he needed to dampen the blood encrusted bandage to remove it, and the vinegar seemed a better option than the water that had been put out for the animals.

Aramis moaned softly and his eyelids fluttered open. "Marsac?"

"No, it is Athos. I am sorry to cause you more pain, my friend. But I would like a better look at your wound, if I may."

Aramis stared ahead blankly, but he did not resist as Athos carefully separated the bloody cloth from his matted hair and skin. The gash was deep, and while Athos could find no sign of pus or foulness, the surrounding skin was reddened and warm to the touch. Moreover, it was still bleeding sluggishly. It required a needle and thread. Unfortunately, Athos had neither and he was reluctant to press their host for further aid. It was just as likely he would decide that they were too much trouble and turn them out into the snow. A second glance at his surroundings gave Athos a better idea. He gathered a handful of thick cobwebs from the beams above his head and used them to seal the deepest sections of the gash. To his great relief, it worked. Athos tore strips from the blanket and tied it around Aramis' head. After which, he tried to get Aramis to drink a little of the beer. Much of it dribbled out of Aramis' mouth, but he did appear to swallow some, which Athos took as an encouraging sign.

Athos turned his attention to his horse, apologizing for leaving it unattended. His mount was being observed by a pair of young nanny goats, who appeared quite taken with their new neighbour. Athos removed the tack and saddle, and rubbed the animal down with loose handfuls of straw. Finally he brought it water and feed. That done, he was able to see to his own needs. He drank some of the beer and consumed a small portion of the bread and fish. Athos decided he would wait until Aramis was more alert before trying to get him to eat anything. Athos unbuckled his sword belt and set it down within reach. His dagger he kept with him.

Athos had grown unused to any companionship save that of his horse. Even so, he pressed close to Aramis, hoping the other man would benefit from their shared warmth. There was nothing else for Athos to do but watch over his charge and wait out the storm. Athos did not try to sleep for he slept poorly, unless he had consumed enough strong drink to dull his thoughts. Whereas Aramis slept, but not easily. Athos listened to the piteous moans until he bear it no more. Trying to soothe Aramis' distress, Athos spoke to him in a soft, reassuring tone. When Aramis reached out blindly, Athos took his hand and held onto it, running his thumb back and forth over the scarred knuckles

"No... no... no... God, please..."

"Hush. It is over. I promise you are safe here."

"Marsac! Wait... no... wait... Don't leave me. God, don't leave me here..."

"You are not alone. I won't leave you. Hush. I am here, see." Athos released Aramis' hand and placed his own against Aramis' face, rubbing a calloused thumb over a flushed cheek, trying to get the glazed eyes to focus on him. "Aramis?"

Aramis whimpered and tried to move closer. Athos re-positioned his arms to let Aramis tuck his face into the junction of his neck and shoulder. Breathing in the warmth of Athos' skin seemed to have a calming effect and Aramis finally settled.

Athos eventually slipped into his own troubled dreamscape. He awoke to total darkness and his fingers closed conclusively around the hilt of his dagger until he remembered. Aramis was still curled up against him, breathing damply against his throat. The only other sounds came from the animals. Athos had no recollection of falling back to sleep, but when he next woke it was to light and the heat pouring off his sleeping companion.

Athos disentangled himself and placed the back of his hand against Aramis' brow. Aramis' eyes moved restlessly behind his closed lids and his skin was flushed and sweaty. Athos tried to rouse him, but Aramis only moaned and twisted away from his touch. "We have to cool you down, my friend. Forgive me if I leave you alone for a moment." Athos got to his feet and shook of the last vestiges of sleep as he made his way outside.

The snow was no longer falling and the wind had died away, leaving a strangely oppressive silence in its wake. Athos scooped up a handful and folded it inside a strip of torn blanket. He took it back inside and used it to wipe the sweat from Aramis' throat and cheeks, before placing it on Aramis' brow. Aramis whined and shifted restlessly.

"Easy," said Athos. He held the strip of blanket in place with one hand; the other he rested lightly on Aramis' chest. Aramis' heart beat frantically beneath his fingertips.

The third time Athos stepped outside to gather fresh snow for the cold compress he found he had an audience. A girl, of probably no more than a dozen years, bundled up in an over-sized coat. Athos nodded to her politely. "Good morning."

"Is your friend still sick?"

Athos was growing tired of repeating himself; though he made an effort not to be brusque. "My friend is not sick, he suffered an injury when his horse threw him."

"Papa says he's sick. And that whatever ails him will be the death of us all." The girl sounded remarkably unconcerned about the prospect.

"And what do you say?"

"Oh, I agree with nana. Papa talks a load of bull," said the girl airily.

Athos' lips twitched. "Your nana is a wise woman. I believe you would do well to mind her."

The girl squinted at him, as though uncertain if she was being mocked. Eventually she seemed to decide he was being genuine as she smiled shyly and held out the covered bowl. "Pottage," she explained. "Nana thought your friend might like it."

"Thank you, I am certain he will be most grateful. As am I."

"I'd better fetch the others." The girl walked by Athos, heading into the barn.

"Others?" Athos asked. He followed her.

He found Aramis the subject of intense scrutiny by four children of varying size, though all appeared to be younger than the girl. It was difficult to distinguish their genders, as they were wrapped up against the cold. They must have slipped past him unnoticed while he was talking.

"Is he dead?"

"He's not dead. He's breathing."

"He's got a sword."

"Maybe he's a bandit."

"He's not a bandit."

"How do you know?"

"'Cause he's not ugly like one."

"You're just saying that 'cause you're a girl."

"You take that back."

"Shan't."

"Ow!"

The older girl stepped forward to chastise the squabbling pair. "Quiet, all of you. Can't you see he's hurt."

Four small faces froze in alarm as they looked at Athos standing behind her.

"Get back to the house before papa realizes you're in here."

The four scurried away, taking as wide a route as possible around Athos.

The older girl approached Aramis. She knelt beside him and pushed up her coat sleeve to allow her to rest her small palm against his face. "He's so hot," she exclaimed.

"Yes," said Athos, crouching down beside her. "His head wound is troubling him. He has a fever."

The girl regarded Aramis somberly. "Have you bled him?"

"No," said Athos slowly, somewhat taken aback by her calm tone. "He was cold when I found him. And I did not think it wise while his head still bleeds."

"They bled my mother, but she died any way. They cut her here." The girl pointed to a place on her arm. "I wasn't supposed to be watching, but no one sent me away. She was breathing really loud and then she stopped."

"I am sorry," said Athos. He wondered if sickness had caused the poor woman's death. It would certainly go someway to explaining the man's attitude.

"I have my mother's name."

"And what is that?"

"Marguerite."

"A very pretty name."

The young Marguerite smiled. "You should bathe it with nana's vinegar poultice. It helped Jacques when he got a cut on his hand that smelt funny."

"Is Jacques your brother?"

Marguerite wrinkled her nose. "No, he's old. He lives in the house behind ours. He doesn't like papa but he's says nana is the wisest woman in all of France."

"You should go back," said Athos. "Before your father misses you."

"Oh, he'll only shout. He doesn't beat us," said the girl, a touch defensively.

"All the same, I think you should go home."

She nodded, but rather than leaving at once she wandered over to Athos' horse. "He's lovely."

"Be careful," Athos warned. "He does not always take to strangers."

Marguerite heeded this warning at least, reaching over to rub the nose of the elderly gelding instead. "Are you from Paris?"

"No."

"Have you ever been there?"

"Yes."

The girl turned to look at him, her eyes ablaze with excitement. "What's it like? Do hundreds of people really live there? How do they fit all the houses? Have you seen the King? What about the Queen? Is she very beautiful?"

Faced with this barrage of questions, Athos blinked and took a moment to respond. "It is home to a considerable number of people, yes. In places the houses are very tightly crammed together, I suppose. Yes, I have seen the King and the Queen."

"Is she beautiful?"

Athos struggled to answer the girl's question as the image of the Queen in his head was replaced by the visage of another. He closed his eyes and forced the words out. "Yes. She was very beautiful." Marguerite did not appear to notice his unfortunate slip. When Athos had composed himself and re-opened his eyes, the girl was staring into the distance, lost in her own thoughts.

"I wish I could see her. Do you think I might go to Paris one day?"

Athos thought it unlikely, but not impossible, so he nodded. "I am certain you could. But now you must go back to the house. Please."

This time she left, leaving the barn door open. Athos went to close it, and found himself face to face across the expanse of snow with her father, who was angrily ushering his daughter inside. He glared at Athos.

Athos held the man's gaze calmly as he closed the barn door. He returned to Aramis' side and sat down with a heavy sigh. "Recover soon, my friend. I am not certain we will be able to remain here much longer."


End file.
